She grabbed her small satchel of belongings and slipped past him, painfully aware of his displeasure to have her there. The warmth of the hall overrode her concern for his impression, however. She removed her sodden cloak and gloves, grateful that she could almost feel her fingers again.
“My lord?” a man said as he entered the hall, pulling the sash on his robe and removing a stocking cap from his head, stuffing it in his pocket. He blinked at her, eyebrows raised, then took her cloak and gloves.
“See to the woman and have Mary fix her tea. Her horse has an injury that must be seen to. I’ll take it to the stable and rouse Thomas.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Eve stilled as the first man, the attractive one, came closer. He hadn’t introduced himself, though she gathered that this was his home. He stared down at her and she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. His face concealed his every emotion. Was he angry to have a woman fall into his arms unannounced on his doorstep?
The man reached forward and lifted a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. With a last lingering,unfathomable look, he stepped through the front door and closed it behind him, shutting out the cold.
Eve shivered and her belly quivered with a feeling she couldn’t describe.
The shorter man stepped in front of her, drawing her attention back to her predicament. “Now then, Miss. Let’s have your name.”
“Eve.”
He eyed her. “I’ll wager it’s a bit more than that. My name is Virgil, butler to his lordship. This way, please.”
“Who is he?” Eve followed Virgil up the wide stairs. The hall was dimly lit with only a few candles, leaving the wide space draped in shadows. The walls were paneled and held no paintings, making the manor feel austere. Yet the delicately carved balusters and thick carpet beneath her feet hinted that the house had once been more elaborate.
“The Earl of Stamford,” the butler replied.
His name was unfamiliar to Eve.
At the landing, Virgil guided her to an open door. Eve entered and found herself in a study. Here, paintings of fox hunts hung on the walls and a carved wooden desk sat to one side. Behind it, she spotted a low shelf with books. Two chairs and a table sat before a fire that burned low, offering welcoming heat. Eve felt the warmth against her skin and moved closer. She stretched out her hands, trying to warm her fingers.
Virgil stooped to stoke the fire and added another log. “Warm yourself. I’ll have my wife, Mary, bring you some tea. Excuse me while I fetch her.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“And Miss? Welcome to Greyhaven Manor.”
He left, and she found herself alone. The fire crackled and popped as the wind howled outside. Ice and snow pattered against the panes and a tree scratched against a window withan eerie sound that made her arms prickle. A thump sounded from the floor above. Was that where Virgil and his wife slept? How many others were in the house? Perhaps Stamford had a wife and family. Her heart gave an uncomfortable shift at the thought.
“Foolish,” she muttered to herself. She was here because she was running from marriage to an older man. Stamford, with his graying hair, was not the young man she wished to wed one day. Even if he wasn’t married, it made little difference. But the hollow feeling in her stomach called her a liar.
Several minutes later, a mighty yowl came from the hallway, and then an orange tabby cat sauntered in, ears and tail twitching, and eyed her. Apparently, he found her lacking because he made his way to the chair by the fire and hopped onto the cushion, putting his back to her.
“Hello, kitty. Are you friendly?”
He looked at her over his shoulder, then dug his claws into the cushion.
“Oh, I think you’ll be in trouble if you do that.” She reached over to unhook his nails from the fabric.
The cat bumped his head against her arm and purred.
“Don’t mind him. Alfred believes this house is his and we are but his servants,” a woman said as she entered, carrying a tray laden with tea and a bowl of something that smelled divine, and set it on the desk. Her red hair was plaited over one shoulder, but the braid couldn’t hold the wild curls that puffed in every direction and caught the firelight with glimmers of auburn. Small lines etched the corner of kind, green eyes.
“I’m Mary. You met my husband Virgil and his lordship?”
“I met Virgil. Ispoketo his lordship, though no introductions were made.”
Mary chuckled. “He’s not one for visitors. What were you doing out in this storm, anyway? And without a chaperone?”
Eve flushed. She hadn’t even considered what she might say to explain her appearance. “I…” Drat it, she couldn’t lie. “I was traveling to a church when the storm began. I thought the downpour would be brief. I hadn’t expected snow.”
“It’s rare to see flurries this early.” Mary pursed her lips. “On your way to the friars at Kirkby, then?”
